


Love in four parts

by soapeuro



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, cheesy as hell, part of eurosoap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapeuro/pseuds/soapeuro
Summary: For Valentine’s day, Nikita wants to do something nice. But what does it mean to do “something nice” with the biggest asshole in school?
Relationships: Alekseev/Mélovin (Musician)
Kudos: 4





	Love in four parts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This was posted on the Eurosoap blog between February 14th and March 5th for Valentine's Day. It is part of the Eurosoap universe, in which Alekseev is a dorky high school student who wears flip flops everywhere and Mélovin is his always-in-a-monotone-voice-speaking friend. It was originally posted in four parts (hence the title) and it can be read separately from Eurosoap. Enjoy!

If there was one thing in this school Kostyantyn didn’t feel the need to constantly question and criticize, it was Nikita Alekseev.

Out of the corner of his functioning eye, he saw the boy patiently waiting for a student to find his wallet. Was it Kostyantyn who had to help this customer, he’d probably fall out and sneer that the boy could’ve looked for that wallet when he was still in line. They only had half an hour to set up the stand and sell as much panini’s as possible. No time should be wasted in those precious minutes.

Today was Valentine’s day and for the occasion Bilal had brought a heart-shaped panini iron. Aside from their daily menu, they sold roses and Valentine-themed sweets, like peppermint hearts and pink cotton candy. Netta, who Kostyantyn considered one of his permanent employees, had sewed together an entire collection of stuffed animals holding hearts. For twenty euros each, people could buy a stuffed animal and let Netta cross-stitch a text or pattern inside the heart. The stuffed animals sold like hot cakes and Netta had asked for the help of a few friends to finish all the commissions in time.

Kostyantyn didn’t like to admit it, but he had mad respect for Netta. She had an actual talent that helped her make some extra cash. In Kostyantyns eyes, pushing paninis in the faces of classmates in exchange for money wasn’t exactly a talent. If he wasn’t doing something completely illegal inside their school halls, there’d be competition. And the lack of competition, a panini stand that had better stuff to offer, was probably what kept his business running. He wasn’t special in what he was doing, he just happened to be the only one that had the balls.

Nikita always told him that he shouldn’t be so pessimistic, that the students of Bezençon High School appreciated the risks he took to sell panini’s. What only Nikita knew was that it wasn’t a risk. Kostyantyn could go as far as to start an illegal business inside the school and miss Mede still wouldn’t kick him out. After the stunt the previous headmaster pulled – denying that the bullying inside of Bezençon’s hallways had anything to do with the suicide of Anna Bocharov, Kostyantyns sister – Kostyantyn had gained an untouchable status among his teachers, all to keep the press away and uphold the reputation of the school. In return, Kostyantyn could get away with everything he did without being punished. If you didn’t consider it a punishment that he had to stay in this school, the place where they had filled Anna’s backpack with the frogs they had to dissect in biology class and made fun of her allergic reaction to nuts, that is.

He had thought about changing school. Starting all over again in a different place. His parents hadn’t been fond of that idea.

‘Don’t cause trouble where there is no trouble,’ his mom had said. ‘We have enough on our plate already.’

His parents never directly mentioned the death of their daughter. When speaking of Anna, they did so in past tense, never starting a sentence with when Anna was still alive or before she committed suicide. Kostyantyn didn’t know why they did this; was it because it was too painful for them, or because they thought it was too painful for him?

Nevertheless, Kostyantyn hated the complete denial of Anna’s death. Sometimes it felt like they were speaking about someone who hadn’t been there in the first place. An imaginary friend, a figment of their mind. Only Nikita could confirm that she was real. He wasn’t afraid to say words like death and suicide. Nikita was his voice of reason. He was able to change feelings into words.

It was nearly half past twelve, meaning that the lunch break was about to come to an end. While Netta and her friend Ivi picked up the pace to finish their last commissions, Bilal cleaned the panini irons and stacked them into Kostyantyns locker. Kostyantyns eyes were pinned on Nikita. He was talking to a girl from their math class. Michela had bleached hair and always matched her nails with her outfits. Her sister used to be a classmate of Anna. Bully or witness, Kostyantyn hated all classmates of Anna equally as much, as well as everyone related to them. Seeing Nikita talk to her, laugh with her, made him clench his jaw.

‘He’s not your toy, you know?’

Behind him, Netta had risen from her seat. She held a stuffed dinosaur with the words Amaia, will you be my Valentine? inside its heart. The tips of her fingers were sore from all the sewing and stitching.

Kostyantyn murmured something in return. Netta was a good example of someone he only hung around with because she was a friend of Nikita. Kostyantyn wouldn’t voluntarily listen to her politically correct rants if Nikita wasn’t so keen on her.

‘That look isn’t going to get you a Valentine,’ Netta said.

‘What do you know about that?’

‘I have one. A date. Tonight in Gabbani’s.’

Netta swelled with pride. Kostyantyn frowned.

‘Who?’

‘You don’t know her.’

That was probably not true. Kostyantyn knew almost everyone in the school. He had an anonymous Facebook account to keep track of Anna’s former classmates and teachers. All the names and faces were printed on his retina.

‘She’s a senior,’ Netta said, opening the photo gallery on her phone and showing him a picture of a red-haired girl. Kostyantyn immediately recognized her.

‘You’re not going to date her,’ he said, his voice even more monotone than usual.

‘Why not? She’s cute. She even bought me that.’

Netta pointed to the stuffed pink rhino sitting next to her backpack.

‘Ah, a rhino,’ Kostyantyn said. ‘What a classic. Just as cute as bullying someone until they commit suicide.’

Those provocative comments weren’t rare for Kostyantyn, yet they still made Netta frown. 

‘Not everyone in that class bullied your sister, Mel,’ she said.

‘Jessika did.’

‘How are you so sure?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Just don’t date her.’

The bell rang. Netta collected her stuff and put her sewing kit back in her locker.

‘You have English with Amaia Romero, right?’ she asked him, gesturing to the stuffed dinosaur that needed to be delivered.

‘If you cancel your date with Jessika, I’ll give it to Amaia,’ Kostyantyn said.

Netta groaned out of frustration.

‘Never mind then, I’ll ask someone else.’

-

‘We need to ruin Netta’s date in Gabbani’s tonight,’ Kostyantyn said as he took the seat next to Nikita in English class.

Nikita didn’t hear him. He was hastily reading the chapter of Animal Farm that had been assigned last class. Nikita was a slow reader. Not because he couldn’t get a grip on the words, but because he was always trying to ban the constant noise called tinnitus.

Him and Nikita had met during a group meeting for young people with disabilities, roughly three years ago now. Kostyantyn himself was blind in one eye. It was a result of fireworks that Anna had set off in her room in the midst of a psychotic episode. The firework exploded right under his face as he had tried to put out the flame by stomping on the fuse. He didn’t remember much of what had happened afterwards, only the scorching pain that seemed like an event all by itself. He had apparently dragged himself downstairs and called an ambulance. Had he done that sooner – or if Anna hadn’t acted as if it was only a scratch – he would probably not have ended up completely blind in his left eye.

To protect Anna, Kostyantyn had taken the blame. He had never told his parents the true story. The further he strayed from the truth, the harder it was to admit that this could’ve been the event that made their parents decide to seek better help for Anna. He knew Anna would never forgive him had he spilled that it had been her who had set off the fireworks. She dreaded the therapists their parents sent her to. If they knew the truth, they would’ve taken action. Reach out for better therapies, maybe admit her to a psychiatric ward. But no, Kostyantyn had deemed the threats of his sister more reasonable than the help of an expert. With taking the blame he had only encouraged his sister to go further and further down the drain, until she was so broken that hanging herself seemed like the only option.

After the firework accident his mother had threatened to take away his X-box if he didn’t go to the group meeting. So, albeit reluctantly, Kostyantyn did.

The group consisted of teenagers from age twelve to eighteen who had a physical disability that affected their daily life. He shook hands with a girl in a wheelchair, a boy who had only one leg and a girl who had, like him, lost her sight in an accident. He instantly forgot their names when he met Nikita. Instead of introducing himself with his name, age and disability, he said: ‘I’m Nikita Alekseev and I like your socks.’

Kostyantyn looked down to see what socks he was wearing. They were blue and had space ships on them.

Because he didn’t know what else to say, he said: ‘I like your socks too.’

Nikita had grinned. ‘Thanks, but that’s just skin.’

He lifted his leg so Kostyantyn could see that he was wearing flip flops.

‘I like your skin then,’ he said, which made Nikita laugh. It was a laugh that involved his entire body, not just his mouth. Kostyantyn wanted to put his arm on Nikita’s shoulder to experience it, as if it was electricity that would conduct when their bodies touched.

He wanted to touch Nikita so badly.

Nikita talked a lot during those meetings. He told the group about his father, who had left his mother when he was just a baby, and how his mom and him survived on the minimum wage in a tiny apartment on Kuhr Square. About the food stamps and the program for families living below the poverty line that had given him the opportunity to spend the summer in Spain. About suffering from tinnitus and his ways to deal with the everlasting peep in his ears. How it drove him mad at times, made him cry when the battery of his ancient mp3 player was empty and he couldn’t listen to music to drown out the noise.

In individual conversations, Nikita was less talkative. He was actually quite shy when Kostyantyn approached him after the first meeting.

‘Would you like to go out with me?’ Kostyantyn had asked him.

He didn’t know what to expect from Nikita. After all, they had known each other for only one hour. But in that hour Kostyantyn had decided that he liked Nikita. And since liking someone was quite rare for Kostyantyn, he decided that the one thing left to do was to make Nikita like him too.

Nikita had given him a questioning look.

‘Going out?’ he asked. ‘With you?’

Kostyantyn nodded.

‘Now?’

‘Depends,’ he said, ‘if you want to.’

Nikita put a finger on his lips. Kostyantyn had seen him doing that during the breaks in between his sentences. It looked cute.

‘We’re eating chili con carne tonight,’ Nikita said. ‘I don’t wanna miss that.’

‘I can come after dinner. Or you can come to me.’

Again that questioning look.

‘I have a feeling,’ he said, ‘that you won’t take no for an answer.’

‘True.’

‘Then I say no.’

It was a game and Nikita wanted to play it on extreme mode. So that’s what Kostyantyn did. And, to this day, they were still playing that game of pushing and pulling, of kissing and talking and fighting and forgiving. Nikita was complex in a way that intrigued Kostyantyn. He had habits that would seem weird on others, but suited Nikita. Take for example those flip flops. Nikita wore them everywhere. To do such thing you had to be completely out of your mind, but Nikita wasn’t. He just hated shoes.

-

English class was almost over when Nikita finally closed his book. They were supposed to be discussing the chapter with each other, but Nikita had not yet said one word.

‘You’re not going to ruin a date, Kostyantyn,’ he said. From his tone Kostyantyn could tell he was serious.

‘Why not?’

‘Because that’s rude.’

‘So is bullying.’

Nikita sighed. ‘What’s your plan?’

‘Don’t know yet. Maybe put laxatives in their food.’

‘How?’

‘Emmelie works there. I can ask her.’

Emmelie was one of the few friends Anna had. She had spent most of her teenage years on a boarding school because her parents deemed her incontrollable. She’d no doubt cooperate if she heard about his plan. If there was someone living on the edge of the law, it was Emmelie. 

‘Look,’ Nikita said, ‘I know you hold a grudge towards Anna’s classmates, but… It’s been three years.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why are you trying to talk sense into me?’

‘Someone has to do it.’

Nikita opened the book again, as if to say: the conversation is over.

‘Are you mad at me?’ Kostyantyn asked.

Nikita raised an eyebrow, still looking at the pages.

‘It’s Valentine’s day,’ he said, ‘I want to do something nice for once, but all you can think of is revenge.’

‘Valentine’s day is a capitalistic-’

‘- holiday only meant to benefit the rich companies,’ Nikita interrupted him. ‘I know. But can we, like, celebrate it together without giving money to the big companies?’

‘Why?’

‘Well, maybe because I love you?’

‘But you also love me the other 364 days of the year.’

Nikita rolled his eyes. At the same time, the bell rang.

‘Fine then. No celebrating.’ He slammed his book shut and stuffed it in his backpack. ‘By the way, this year is a leap year. So it must be: “You also love me the other 365 days of the year”. Or no, wait.’ He threw his backpack over his shoulders. ‘I chose this exact day to hate you, so it’s still 364 days.’

With those words, Nikita left.

-

Nikita didn’t reply to any of his texts, nor did he open the door when Kostyantyn knocked on the door of the apartment in Kuhr Square. He cupped his hands around his face and spied through the kitchen window. The lights were on. Nikita never let the lights on when he left the house.

Kostyantyn knew Nikita’s neighbors kept a spare key in case Nikita or his mother forgot theirs, but Kostyantyn didn’t dare to ask for it. Was Nikita so mad that he didn’t want to see him? That had happened only once before, when Kostyantyn had used Nikita’s Instagram to place nasty comments under Samra’s pictures without asking him first. Nikita had ignored all of his texts and when Kostyantyn tried to reconcile by giving Nikita all of his passwords, he had called him “a vile and toxic asshole”. It took him an entire week full of apologies and roses in Nikita’s locker before Nikita half-heartedly gave in. 

Sighing, he knocked on the door one last time.

‘Nik? I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called Valentine’s day a capitalistic holiday.’

No response. Kostyantyn opened the letterbox that was attached to the door. When he crouched down, he could look through the gap. Remarkable enough, he still squeezed both his eyes together for a better focus, even if his left eye didn’t function. He could see no one in the hallway. The door to Nikita’s room, however, was open.

‘Nikita, I really want to apologize. Can you please open the door?’

Again, no one replied. Kostyantyn let his backpack slide down his arm and took the bouquet of roses that were sticking out. One by one, he shoved the roses through the letterbox. Kostyantyn had bought them on the way to Nikita’s house and it showed that they’d been 50% off; the roses drooped to one side and the stem had an odd brown color. Some petals came off as they fell down on the doormat. 

‘See you tomorrow,’ Kostyantyn said before closing the letterbox and walking down the six stairs. He checked his phone, in case Nikita had changed his mind, but there was only a message from his mother, asking him if what pizza he wanted for dinner.

I’m with Nikita, he replied. I’m eating over there.

-

Most of the tables in Gabbani’s were split up instead of forming one big table for six people, probably because they were expecting lots of couples who wanted the privacy of a small table. It was half past five and though the restaurant wasn’t filled to the brim, most tables had a sign that said reserved in a curly handwriting. 

Kostyantyn had been to Gabbani’s only once or twice, despite the status the restaurant had. He didn’t like eating out. Something about the setting was off. He associated food with silence and in a restaurant like this, it was hard to find a spot where the voices of the other guests weren’t overwhelmingly present. All those times Nikita had taken him out to eat – the last time, Kostyantyn remembered, was at Blanche’s birthday party in The Fool Bar – he could barely get anything in his system.

Kostyantyn looked around the place. Netta and her date weren’t there yet. Behind the bar he saw Salvador, who co-owned The Fool Bar, wearing a spandex suit with angel wings. He tried to get the attention of Francesco, highly concentrated on the label of a wine bottle, by licking his earlobe. Francesco shrieked and almost let go of the bottle. Kostyantyn rolled his eyes. He couldn’t decide which one he found more annoying: Francesco, the stereotype Italian, or Salvador, the airhead. 

‘Can I help you?’ A girl appeared in front of him. Like Salvador, she wore a Valentine-themed dress, fortunately for her not made of spandex. Her blonde hair was tied together in a bun. In one hand she had an empty wine glass, under her arm a binder. 

‘I’m looking for Emmelie,’ Kostyantyn said.

‘Has she made a reservation?’

‘No, she works here.’

The girl took a moment to think.

‘Emmelie de Forest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wait here.’ The girl put down the binder on a nearby table and walked away.

Francesco always made a floor plan for the night. Kostyantyn had seen him doing that the last time he was in Gabbani’s. The floor plan was a paper with empty squares that were supposed to be tables, placed in the same setup as the tables in the restaurant. Each reservation was assigned a square according to the amount of people and the remaining spots. This way, it was easier for the waiters to see which tables were still free.

If Netta had booked a table, her name must be in that floor plan. And the floor plan was probably in that binder.

Kostyantyn put one foot for the other, slowly, while keeping an eye on the bar and the other employees. Francesco and Salvador were still behind the bar. Frans, a boy that was one grade ahead of him, took the order of two women. The girl that was going to get Emmelie was nowhere to be seen.

The binder opened easily. There were two plasticized sheets inside: a sheet with names of employees and the tables they had to take care of and the floor plan.

Kostyantyn went over the names written inside the squares. Bezzina, Crone, Lazarev… And Barzilai. Table 12, a table for two.

When he looked around, he saw that there were no numbers on the tables. Only on the floor plan itself were numbers. How was he supposed to read the floor plan? Was table 12 near the exit or near the bar?

Kostyantyn put the first sheet next to the floor plan. Frans got assigned the tables 10 to 16. Right now he was standing next to a table nearby a pillar. There were multiple pillars on the floor plan, but this one was the closest to the bar, meaning that Frans was now serving table 15. So table 12 had to be the table three tables to the right.

‘What are you doing with that?’

Emmelie took the sheet from under his nose and put it back in the binder.

‘Every heard of privacy?’ she snapped.

People found Emmelie intimidating. She had a loud voice and hands that seemed to be constantly curled into fists. Kostyantyn wasn’t afraid of her, but he understood why people tended to keep her at a distance.

‘I need your help,’ he said.

Emmelie closed the binder.

‘For what?’

‘I want you to put laxatives in Jessika Muscat’s food.’

‘I’m sorry? Who?’

‘Netta Barzilai booked a table here for her and Jessika,’ he explained. ‘It’s table 12. I need you to put laxatives in Jessika’s food.’

Kostyantyn showed her a blister with tiny pills.

‘If you’re not sure what food belongs to who, just put it in both.’

Emmelie just stared at him with disbelief. 

‘And then?’ she asked. ‘That’s gonna cost me my job.’

‘Bullying cost Anna her life. I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. Nobody will know. If they find out, just send them to me.’

Emmelie took the blister, then shook her head and gave it back.

‘You’re nuts, Kostyantyn,’ she said. ‘I can’t do that. And I won’t allow you to do it either.’

‘I always get my way.’

‘You sure do,’ said someone behind him. 

Kostyantyn turned around. Arms folded over his chest, his chin up in the air, hair neatly combed back. If Nikita wasn’t looking at him as if he was the devil himself, Kostyantyn would have called him sexy. Unfortunately, Nikita did look at him with his lips pressed together. It wasn’t much. Nikita’s face wasn’t made to be pulled in anger. Still, Kostyantyn felt threatened by those lips.

‘Can I have a word with you?’

Kostyantyn followed Nikita to the entrance of the restaurant. His usual innocence was far behind him. Kostyantyn wondered how much of the conversation he had heard. Instant guilt grabbed him by the throat. Not because he felt sorry for Jessika or Netta – he was probably spiking their food with laxatives right now if Nikita hadn’t showed up - but because of how heartbroken Nikita seemed. The anger had left his face and made place for disappointment.

‘I didn’t come to stop you. You’re still free to do whatever you had in mind.’ Nikita nodded to the blister. ‘Are those pills?’

‘Yes.’

‘Laxatives?’

Kostyantyn didn’t reply. He didn’t even dare to look Nikita in the eyes, so instead he followed the arriving guests with his eyes. The restaurant was slowly filling up. He felt the eyes of the guests itching on his skin. Was it him, or was everyone watching them?

‘Mel.’ Nikita’s voice softened. ‘I’m not mad. I just want to know what you were up to.’

‘Yes,’ Kostyantyn mumbled.

‘What?’

‘They’re laxatives. I wanted to spike their food with laxatives.’

Nikita was silent for a few seconds. Then he said: ‘Are you angry?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Right now. Are you angry?’

Kostyantyn shrugged. ‘Most of it faded when you came in.’

‘But if you had the chance, if I wasn’t here right now, you’d still do it, right?’

There they were. Netta and a redheaded girl, visibly older than her. They walked past them without exchanging a word, not even acknowledging each other. Netta probably didn’t want Jessika to know that she and Kostyantyn were “friends”. One didn’t simply befriend Kostyantyn Bocharov. The entire school was aware of that.

Emmelie guided them to the table Kostyantyn had earlier identified as table 12. At least his logical skills didn’t let him down.

‘I think I would’ve,’ Kostyantyn eventually admitted. 

‘Well,’ Nikita said, ‘you’re honest. I appreciate that. But what you were planning on doing… How do you even store so much anger in that body of yours?’

He pinched Kostyantyns upper arm. A small smile appeared around Kostyantyns lips.

‘If I could share it with you, I wouldn’t be so angry all the time.’

‘Then share it,’ Nikita said, ‘with words. Not with actions. I don’t want you to get in trouble.’

‘I don’t want to. It’s hard.’

‘In theory, spiking someone’s food is a lot more work.’

This made Kostyantyn laugh. Not hard and definitely not as genuine as he wished it to be, but it was something.

‘So… Now that we’re here,’ Nikita said, ‘it’d be a shame if we let the opportunity to go by to celebrate Valentine’s day together.’

‘Can’t.’ Kostyantyn gestured to the restaurant. There seemed to be more guests than there were tables available. ‘All the tables are taken.’

‘Not all.’ Nikita grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the queue that was starting to form in front of the entrance. When they reached the beginning of the line, Nikita spoke up.

‘We have a reservation under the name Alekseev,’ he said to the blonde employee that had taken Emmelie’s place as hostess. She pulled the floor plan out of the binder, nodded and asked them to follow her.

‘You got us a table,’ Kostyantyn said, surprised.

‘I wasn’t going to let this day go by just because you’re a cynical asshole.’ Nikita gestured to the chair he was standing behind. ‘Sit down, cynical asshole of mine.’

Kostyantyn couldn’t help but laugh. This time, he didn’t have to force the corners of his mouth into that position. It went naturally.

He sat down and so did Nikita. Their table was located on the far end of the restaurant, close to the kitchen. From there, Kostyantyn couldn’t see Netta and Jessika.

‘So,’ Nikita said as he took the menu card from the napkin holder and shoved it over the table to Kostyantyn. ‘How are you now? Still angry?’

‘I think I’m fine.’ Kostyantyn went over the menu. He felt Nikita’s eyes on him, challenging him, but Kostyantyn didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? Of course, what he was about to do before Nikita jumped in was plain stupid, but he doubted that was what Nikita wanted to hear. Nikita was always two steps ahead of him.

‘I’m sorry for being such a cynical asshole,’ Kostyantyn said. Saying that, his cheeks changed color.

‘What can I say,’ Nikita said amusingly. ‘For the TV-trope “cynical asshole falls in love with the sunshine boy” to work, there has to be a cynical asshole.’

Kostyantyn chuckled. ‘You calling yourself a sunshine boy now?’

‘It’s clear that you aren’t the sunshine boy, so…’

‘Says the boy who wears flip flops everywhere he goes.’

‘I’m not the one who shoved roses through his boyfriend’s letterbox.’ Nikita grinned. ‘Just accept that you’re the asshole-who’s-not-that-much-of-an-asshole-when-he’s-with-the-sunshine-boy.’

‘You’re so far up your high horse, Nikita.’

‘And you’re an asshole, Kostyantyn.’

Soon the food arrived. It was an unwritten rule that Kostyantyn paid for the dinner. The first few times he had done so, Nikita had tried to make it up by ordering the cheapest meal on the menu. But that was a long time ago and Nikita had learned not to be as modest around Kostyantyn. What Kostyantyn couldn’t express, he made up by small gestures, and paying for their food was one of them.

It had been silent for a while between the two. Kostyantyn thought of something to say. If there was still anything left to apologize for.

As if Nikita read his thoughts, he said: ‘You’re not a bad person, Mel. I don’t believe you are.’

‘Well,’ Kostyantyn said, ‘you do know that I would’ve totally put laxatives in their food if you weren’t here?’

‘I know,’ Nikita said, and smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or kudo if you liked it!


End file.
